Revenge Song

by C. K. Rieke

  He shifted in his seat and turned to face her and nodded. “Gorlen, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  She gave a simple, “Hmpf,” then walked gracefully behind him, and put both her hands on his shoulders. “I know.”

  He uncrossed his arms but couldn’t help but tense up as the god had him in such a vulnerable position.

  “You’re shoulders and neck are tight,” she said. “You need to relax, Commander. You exert far too much effort in your days. You know, I’ve watched you. Your training in your room, alone. I’ve seen you wander the aisles here, day in and day out. Your discipline is unmatched among men. I know what you seek,” she leaned in next to his ear, and whispered, “you reach out for perfection.” The wind from her voice tickled the hairs in his ear and he shivered slightly. She stood back up and walked out before him again. “I can appreciate that, in fact I like it. I wish more of you would strive for such a thing. To become more like us is what more of you should be. Yet, there are too many vermin, too many insects in your herd. It’s sickening if I’m to be quite honest. It’s a disease that plagues you. But, that’s what makes you so special.”

  Gorlen, standing directly in front of Veranor with his arms at his sides, looking up at her, saw her lit in the glowing candlelight. Her long, flowing blond hair glistened like gold, and her eyes were an enchanting ocean blue. The thin, white dress of silk hung from thin straps like twine from each side of her neck and as she sat on the table before him she crossed one leg over the other, and the dress fell to both sides from a slit up to her upper thigh. She leaned forward, towards him and her hair fell from her back to hang down, framing her bosom.

  Veranor sat back casually, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands before him, as if in a contemplative gesture. They sat there a few moments in silence together, each watching the other. Waiting for the other to speak, or perhaps, communicating without the necessary words.

  Then Veranor opened his mouth to break the silence, “Gor—”

  “Lovely evening,” Gorlen interrupted. The howling winds could be heard even from the inside of the pyramid’s thick walls.

  “I suppose so,” he said.

  “Makes you appreciate the cities we erected,” she said, uncrossing her legs, then moving her other leg on top. “Who of these men could really ask for anything better?” He nodded. “What’s the matter, Commander? Cat got your tongue?”

  “Oh, I suppose my eyes are just weary from reading. I’ve been down here a few hours now. Nothing some rest won’t help with.”

  She reached over casually to the stack of books piled neatly next to her. “I see,” she said as she read the titles and pushed the books off the pile one by one onto the table. As she neared the book at the bottom of the pile, Veranor almost unnoticeably began to bounce the heel of his boot on the floor. She looked up at him, with her fingers hovering over the second to last book. “I’ve been enjoying my time among these people in the city, Veranor. I must admit— it’s been far too long since I enjoyed the mortality of man. I rather like watching their day to day meaningless struggles. Yet— I suppose they aren’t meaningless. As any day could be a last for anyone of them. Any one wrong— coincidence— I guess you could call it, or interaction may be a better term. Any interaction with a person or place could be their last decision they have to make in that life.”

  “I’ve heard rumors of those last interactions becoming more frequent in the alleyways of late,” Veranor said in a firm tone.

  “I can’t tell if you’re trying to be wise with me,” she said, but then leapt up to her feet on the table, standing high over him. “But you’re right— they’re right. I’ve been helping the less fortunate— at a cost—” she said with a smirk, her blue eyes began to glow a sky blue. She lifted her bare arms up and touched a brass chandelier of eight lit candles and began to spin it slowly. “Do you enjoy watching death, Veranor? After all, you are not without your predatory instincts? A man who has killed so many you would think would at least have to enjoy— just a little.”

  “I think we may enjoy it in a certain different way,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “I would explain my joy in the honor of doing the will of my gods. I can relish in the completion of my duty,” he said. “I don’t presume to know your pleasure in death.”

  “Oh, come now,” she said, know dropping to both knees on the table before him, and leaning towards him. “You’ve seen me. You know me now. You, as a man, know me better than any other . . .”

  He didn’t respond, but she was only inches from his face then. He didn’t look away, yet he didn’t move in. That moment could be compared to that of either a panther facing down her prey, or a black widow approaching for a mate. Either way, Veranor was not the predator, and he knew it.

  “Of all these experiences down here,” she said in a delicate voice like the satin, “all the men and women I’ve touched, tasted . . .” She leaned in next to his ear. “You . . . I see in my dreams.”

  Veranor didn’t move but kept his hands in his lap with a stoic expression.

  “They’re weak down here, no spirit, no soul. Just vessels of skin, blood, and bones. But you— you’re like me. You’re strong. You’re a hunter.” She ran her nails up to the back of his head, and through the hair. “I dream of what you taste like.” She pulled his head towards her, and smelled the side of his neck, and gently kissed it one time, pulling back as if she was savoring the kiss. “I know you think of me as well.”

  She yanked his head to look at her, and then pointed his head down at her towards her breasts and hips. He couldn’t look away, he was stuck at her mercy.

  “I know you think of me, when you’re all alone. Tell me, what do you do when you think of me?” She pulled his head closer.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Tell me what you think about,” she said. “I want to hear it.”

  “I— I think of your beauty, and your power,” he said, his voice not quivering, but it was weaker than normal.

  “That’s not all you think about. What else? What else do you think about me?”

  He paused, seemingly unsure of what to say. “Your divinity . . .”

  “No,” she roared like a lioness, her eyes glowing brighter, and her nails gripping his head tighter. He winced in pain slightly. “What do you feel when you think of me?”

  “I— I feel— fear . . . Fearful of you.”

  She leaned in and inhaled deeply at the side of his neck. “Yes . . .” She lavished his response. “That’s what I wanted to hear you say. You should be afraid of me. All men should. But I will not harm you, Veranor, in fact, I want to give you to feel pleasure, not pain from my hand. She grabbed him by the wrist and brought his hand up to the front of her chest, laying his callused hand flat on her soft, tan skin. He pulled his hand back slightly, but she pulled it in again flat. “Do you enjoy that?” She ran his hand down under her dress, which she seemed to enjoy by closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath.

  Then a creaking sound came from the corner of the room, and an elderly man and woman entered the library. They didn’t seem to notice the two at the table, but when they did, they saw the icy cold gaze of the Witch Queen and they fumbled out quickly without any words.

  Gorlen looked back down at Veranor with his hand frozen under her dress, and his gaze was at the closed door the two had exited the room from.

  “You want to leave?” she asked.

  “We may not want to do this,” he said. “We, may— maybe should focus on the task at hand.”

  She shoved his hand back out to him, her strength made him rock back in his chair. “You are a son of a bitch, you know that? A beautiful woman comes and lets you put your hands anywhere you want on her, and all you’re probably thinking about is that rat Lilaci. You’d rather her be here for your pleasure than me. Well, you’d better get those thoughts out of your head. There won’t be skin on her bones left to touch soon. But I’ll be here, I’ll always be here.” She grabbed his
wrist forcibly again and held it up to her neck, and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

  It was an awkward moment, as she kissed his unmoving lips. He sat still like a rock, and her like a hummingbird trying to supple nectar from a flower. She grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up to the table and pushing the books to the side with a sweep of her hand, she lay him flat on his back.

  “Gorlen, I—” he tried to say, but she was already untucking his shirt and lifted it up, exposing his stomach. “I’m not worthy of this, this gift— I . . .”

  She leaned in and threw her neck to his lips. “Kiss it,” she said in a cold tone. He began to kiss it, although devoid of passion. “Kiss it!” She began to grow frustrated with the lack of enthusiasm from him. “You know, I could just make you do this. You probably wouldn’t enjoy it at all then. You’d just be a puppet, but I wouldn’t enjoy it any less.”

  He hesitated for a moment in contemplation, but then began kissing her neck with more vigor. He slid one of her straps from her shoulder and kissed at the swell where her neck met her shoulder. She grinned.

  Under the warm candlelight at the center of the library, the two were soon fully bare and moved together like a pair of serpents winding around each other. The howling winds blew outside the library walls as sweat glistened and poured off their two bodies as groans of ecstasy came from the god.

  The winds continued their battering of the vulnerable city that long night. Sands found their way past door and windows lined with linens. There was never any escape from the sands in the Arr, they always found their way to where they wanted to go. That was the way of life of living in the desert— to find a way to a place rampant with fresh water, and safe from the reaches of biting, sharp sand— was nothing short of a miracle in these lands.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The storm’s force had faded with the rising sun, and its warm glow glided down onto the newly formed sandy deposits of the city. They sat heavily against walls and ran thick down alleys. Thousands were bustling through the city streets, many with shovels and linens ready to fill with the heavy sand. In the middle of the streets were dozens of carts strapped to the backs of Ioxi, ready to cart the sand from the storm back out into the desert.

  From high above in the pyramid— watching— was Commander Veranor. His eyes were bloodshot and yearned for slumber, which he received none of the night prior. After his ‘encounter’ with the Witch Queen in the library, he took that one book back to his room, and read it cover to cover in its old language, which took the entirety of the night.

  A knock came to the door then, and he visibly jumped from being startled out of his trance of watching the people in the warm sunlight below. He went over and opened the door inward, his voice sturdy and strong. “Yes,” he said to the young woman at the door.

  She curtsied. “The queen wishes an audience.”

  “Let me gather my things, and draw a bath,” he said. “What time later?”

  “Now,” she said. “You are to accompany me at this time.”

  He scowled. “Let me get my boots,” he said in a rough voice. Afterward he followed the young woman, she was in a light blue dress with a white apron.

  They wound around the pyramid, not leading in the direction of the main throne room of the palace, but towards the west wall, on a lower level than where her throne rested on the top floor. The girl reached out to a latch to the room Veranor knew as one of the dining areas, usually reserved for royal guests. The door was opened, and the brilliant light of the sun lit the room from wall to wall. Along the west wall was the clear glass the pyramid was known for and at the center of the room, seated, was Queen Lezeral Serinaas. Her long, wavy auburn hair flowed out of her golden crown and down her shoulders. Her expression was difficult to read, she almost seemed . . . Fatigued.

  Behind her, in the corner of the room, standing by the glass, looking down at the busy city streets, was probably the last person he wanted to see at that time, Gorlen.

  “Commander Veranor,” the queen said. A servant came in from the open doorway behind him and poured two glasses of fresh water at the table the queen sat at.

  “My Queen,” he said with a low bow.

  “Come, drink,” she said. Veranor walked over hesitantly, with his eyes lowered to the floor, then to the glass which he grabbed. He stepped back and took a sip of the cool water. “Gorlen wishes to speak with you.”

  Veranor looked up at the Witch Queen in surprise. She continued to look down on the city and did not meet his eyes. “I’ve news,” she said.

  “Oh,” Veranor said, holding the water at his side. His eyes held dark bags underneath, giving hints to his restless night to the queen. “What news? If you don’t mind my inquiry.”

  “The one you failed to acquire,” Gorlen said, “she’s no longer alone. And I don’t speak of her ‘Order.’ No, another has entered into the fray. One we did not expect to meet again— an enemy that has slid under the cracks and hidden beneath our lands far too long.” She turned back around, and her piercing blue eyes stared into his. “A sword of white is wielded in the Arr once again.”

  “A whiteblade?” Veranor asked. “How? They were defeated so many ages ago. You defeated them lifetimes ago.”

  “Yes, one of the same whom I defeated, one of the ones who defended those fire-breathing beasts has come forth. Whoever he is, he no longer hides in the shadow. Now he stands under the light of the sun— under my sun!”

  “Commander,” the queen said in a stern tone. “We cannot allow this man to recruit even one person to their criminal ranks. Word has reached my kingdom that there are those of yours with their blood spilled on the sands.” Her tone was grim.

  “My unit?” he said with his voice raised. “I’ve not heard a word from them in over a week’s time. Last I heard, they had spotted Lilaci and another on the sands and they were in pursuit. Are you saying—?

  “They’re gone,” the queen said. “It’s . . . unfortunate.”

  Veranor looked angry by the way his bottom lip curled up, and the white tips of his teeth shown. His eyes grew cold, and he clutched the water cup tightly, then placed it on the table next to him abruptly. “She won’t get away with this. Foro was too far, this is beyond redemption of any sort. I’ll flay and burn her for this.”

  Gorlen turned to look back out the windows. She now wore a long dress of glimmering silver that twinkled in the sunlight through the glass. “She was your favorite . . . student, was she not?”

  He looked over at her spitefully. “I’ve had many students over the years, too many to count in fact.”

  “Two hundred sixty-eight.”

  “What?” he asked the Witch Queen who’d said the number.

  “Two hundred and sixty-eight,” she repeated. “You can’t count that high?”

  Waves of anger seemed to wash over Veranor, and he began to breathe harder.

  “Well,” the goddess said. “You best is now your greatest failure. How does that make you feel? To me, it makes me ashamed of you. I hope you feel a great deal of betrayal, because her death will not completely forgive your failure. I’ve another tidbit to add to your torment.” The queen turned in her seat to look at the goddess over her shoulder.

  “What?” the queen asked.

  “Your other disciple, Fewn—”

  “That cannot be,” Veranor said.

  “You doubt my word?” Gorlen fumed suddenly from the corner of the room, and the sun began to disappear, and dark clouds gathered around her, and crept along the floor like smoke smoldering from a hot fire.

  “I do not doubt you,” he said. “I beg your forgiveness. I only meant that I cannot believe that Fewn would turn as well. She was a refined assassin through and through.”

  “She was with the Dragon’s Breath. She was bringing her back here, and then something changed.”

  “What?” the queen asked her, “what changed?”

  “She,” Gorlen looked away with a disgusted look on her face. “She— beg
an to care for the girl. Her feelings have gotten in the way of her duty. She now— again— is with her and Lilaci. Insult added to injury. This has gotten so . . . Twisted . . . That we cannot wait any further. We cannot delay in ending this madness.”

  “Agreed,” the queen said, standing and bowing to her. “What do you beckon of me and this great city of yours?”

  The goddess’ temperament subsided, and in a cool and collected tone again, and with the black clouds and smoke dissipating— letting the sunshine back into the room. “Why—” she said. “Him.”

  “Him?” the queen asked. “Just him?”

  Veranor looked puzzled. “We can take a score of soldiers with us. I have my Scaethers all collected back within the city walls, ready to leave with us with one hour’s notice.”

  “Listen, mortal,” she said to him in not so much a mocking tone, but nonchalantly, as if she meant to address him like a man addresses a dog. “I have no problem doing all of this on my own. I fear none of this, and I will easily kill any and all of them in seconds.” She looked up at Veranor with a playful smile then. “I just enjoy you, you entertain me.” She looked back outside to the underlying city and waved the back of her hand at him with her fingers extended. “Besides, you need your vengeance, or revenge, or whatever you want to call it as well.”

  “What about the girl?” the queen asked. “Are you saying you are going after the girl with just the two of you?”

  “Yes,” the goddess said. Then there was silence between the three for a few moments. “Why?” Gorlen said with a sigh at last.

  “Well . . . Why send out Lilaci in the first place, and give her the gift you gave her? I assumed there was a reason the Six didn’t want to go after her yourselves? I mean absolutely no disrespect. My heart and hand belong to you, I just can’t help but be curious.”